


Canticle

by Bliss_Smith



Series: Elements of Love/On the Road to Always [2]
Category: Dragon Age: Origins
Genre: F/M, how to turn a dusty cabin into a chapel, love as a religion, sex as a holy offering, what happens when you get a Chantry boy alone in a cabin
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-08-29
Updated: 2018-08-29
Packaged: 2019-07-04 00:51:52
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 2,472
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15830367
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Bliss_Smith/pseuds/Bliss_Smith
Summary: Timeline is on the way back to Denerim after the ambush at the lake. (My) Storyline is directly after Golden.New lessons on worshipping an old wayChant of Light quotes by Mary Kirby/Bioware





	1. Chapter 1

The surprising part isn’t that she wants him every moment they’re together. It’s how many ways. It’s how the simplest of things always lead to him, how something as innocuous as a wall instantly becomes another way to experience him. 

 

The cabin is a stroke of luck, a memory he pulls from his short time scouting with Wardens, of an abandoned place that is just what they need as the skies turn cloudy. Leaving him to settle Nilly into the small stable, she goes inside to open the doors and windows and let the dust out before the rain comes 

 

And just like that, as she turns around to survey the space and the breeze blows up her dress and around her legs, she stops and stares at the wall. It’s perfectly ordinary wood, a wall for any small hunter’s shack, and the immediate vision of pinning his hands up against it leaves her breathless. 

 

Just as soon – another vision – she’s pinned, face first against the rough wood, his hands planted on either side of her head while he tells her what he’ll do to her. 

 

She laughs at the idea, a bright trill floating out the door with the dust.  _A wall? Really? I’m dripping down my leg over building construction?_  

 

“Share?” 

 

She turns to see him walking toward her with that languid stride, the one that’s foreplay all on its own. She’s torn. Back up to it or back him up? Offer or take. It doesn’t really matter. They’ll do both before they’re done, more than once, but which one will make him light up like he’s turning into the sun? Which one will make him glow? 

 

She waits for him to put his hand in her hair, the touch that always means more and feels better than any other way he can touch her. 

 

“Walls.” she says, getting distracted by his mouth. She runs her fingers over his lips as she smiles up at him. “I was laughing about walls.” 

 

She puts her free hand on his chest and pushes gently, stepping up against him to tell him to move back. He smiles under her fingers as he moves, lighting up for her as he lets her lead him. 

 

She laughs again as she pins his hands against the wall, his delighted reaction so much better than she ever expected.  “That’s how much you’ve enchanted me; I look at a wall and all I can think of is you up against it.” She goes up on her toes, stretching as much as she can. It’s not quite enough but what can you do when you’re short? It works enough that she can press her mouth against the pulse in his neck as she pushes against him, pushes his hands harder against the wood. She bites and sucks, doing to his neck what he loves to do to hers, twisting her hips and rubbing herself against his erection. 

 

“We need to buy you some Orlesian heels.” he laughs, already seeing the difficulty of standing. 

 

“Hang some ropes from the ceiling for me to pull up with.” 

 

“Or you could unpin my hands and I can lift you up.” He says it with just enough hesitance to make her think that’s what he really wants. 

 

“Do you want me to let go, or are you just getting impatient?” 

 

“Both,” he laughs. “I love the way it feels but I love feeling my hands on you more.” 

 

She releases his hands and moves hers to either side of his head. “Put your hands on me, Chantry boy.” 

 

He does, big hands coming down and around to cup her ass and lift her up against him as he rubs his cock on her. “Why is it so hot when you call me that?” 

 

“Because it sounds like I’m looking to lead you astray. Or maybe just make you confess your sins.” 

 

That one hits the spot, making him groan and clutch her tighter. She laughs in delight and pulls him down for a kiss, nipping his lips and sucking his tongue until they’re both grasping and moaning. She puts a hand on his chest and pushes against him as she steps back, asking him to stay where he is. 

 

She walks back slowly, too busy looking at him to move any faster. He has his palms on the wall, pressing against it like he’s trying to hold on to it, keep himself in place. He’s flushed and breathing hard, eyes lit with desire, cock throbbing in his pants. 

 

“Your beauty would tempt the Gods to sin, sweet Chantry boy. What chance do I have?” 

 

He smiles and bites his lip at that, blushing and flushing and looking so sinfully sweet she bites her own lip and fights the urge to pull him to the floor and ride him until she screams. She sits on the floor, stretching out her legs and relaxing back on her hands, settling in to see how crazy she can drive him. 

 

“Show me what I do to you.” She speaks softly, reverently, as if this dusty little hunter’s shack is a chapel. The afternoon light spilling through the windows only heightens the effect somehow, dusting everything with a subtle glow. 

 

She’s not the only one who feels it. The light in his eyes suggests he’s having his own religious experience as he lifts his shirt and opens his pants enough to push them down his hips.  _Lost and found_  she thinks, another layer of desire for them to explore together. 

 

Her eyes move slowly, from his face to his hips, the sharp need in his gaze accentuated by the crystal drips from his hard cock. She wants to say something, tell him how beautiful he is, but she can’t find the right words. She’s not even sure the right ones exist; none she knows can explain how she feels about him in this moment. 

 

“Touch yourself for me.  Show me what you do when you think about me.” 

 

He looks wounded, eyes closing and head pressing back on the wall like something hurts down inside. He lets his hand move slowly, sliding up from the top of his thighs, pressing his palm hard against his skin. 

 

They both make a noise as he wraps his hand around his cock, twin moans of pure heat meeting in the air between them. She wants to tell him to open his eyes, but she can’t bring herself to disturb him. It would be a shame to snatch him out of his reverie. She doesn’t need to see his eyes to know how much he’s losing himself in what they’re doing. 

 

But wasn’t there something about confession? 

 

“Tell me true, sweet Chantry boy, when was the first time you touched yourself at the thought of me?” She hardly recognizes her own voice; her deep need turns it into something dark and rough. 

 

 

His breath catches at that, head pressing harder against the wall as his shoulders and hips arch up from it, his hand squeezing and pulling his cock with a slow, syrupy rhythm. “A few days before we got to Redcliffe, while I was bathing and just needed release. I didn’t mean to, didn’t want to. I was trying to think of anything other than you, but you wouldn’t leave me, even then.” 

 

“What did you see when you closed your eyes?” 

 

“The way you looked up at me. When I walked by on the way to bathe. You were kneeling by the wagon and you looked up and smiled.” 

 

She remembers that moment as clearly as he, the way they looked at each other. How it made her heart skip a few beats, made her smile from the sheer joy of seeing him smile at her. 

 

She kneels quickly, in place just in time for him to open his eyes, to look down and find her smiling up at him. 

 

“Keep stroking. Show me how I make you feel.”  


	2. Chapter 2

He falls to his knees, and his free hand takes its rightful place, fingers pushed into her hair, gripping the side of her head as tightly as his other hand grips his cock.  _Lost and found,_  she thinks again, unaware of the tears falling down her face. She can see it, the moment he tears himself open all the way, every bit of himself laid bare for her, his offering is no less than everything he is. 

 

He strokes his cock slowly, reverently, if such a thing can be called that. She thinks it can; everything is holy in the sunlight filtering through the air, turning the dust motes to flecks of gold showering down on them. 

 

“Who knows me as you do? You have been there since before my first breath. You have seen me when no other would recognize my face. You composed the cadence of my heart.” 

 

His voice is the counterpoint to the slick sound of his hand on his cock, soft, ragged words on the wings of his rasping breaths, spilling his heart the way he works to spill his come for her. 

 

“Through blinding mist, I climb a sheer cliff, the summit shrouded in fog, the base endlessly far beneath my feet. You are the rock to which I cling.” 

 

Her sweet Chantry boy, laying his heart and the Chant of Light at her feet. She could swear the ground is humming, the air singing as she reaches out to him, one hand light on the one that holds himself, her other held palm up and waiting at the head of his cock, catching the liquid crystals that drip into her hand. 

 

“I love you, Alistair,” the words dissolving in the gold dust as they tear a cry from him. 

 

Still that same slow stroke, even as his breath catches and his hips arch up. The hand in her hair tightens and pulls as he cries out again, calling her name and his love as he comes for her. 

 

She was supposed to look down. The point of all this was to see what ejaculating looks like, but somewhere along the way the objective changed, overcome by the reverence that settled over them. She can do nothing but watch his face, the love so strong in his eyes it looks like pain, gold dust scattering over more liquid crystal, this time over the tears that track down his cheeks. 

 

She lets instinct take over. Whatever has led them to this place of holiness tells her to lift her hand, to catch his tears in her palm, let it mix with his come. She holds her hand up to the air for a moment, acknowledging his offerings for her, before bringing it to her mouth. 

 

It’s his turn to be unable to look away and she wonders why. There are so many emotions swirling in his eyes she doesn’t know where to start. She keeps her eyes on his as she gently licks her palm. She’s supposed to lick it all up, not miss a drop, but his eyes are so wide and hot, his mouth open as if he’s asking her to share. She holds her hand out in offering, smiling softly at the noises he makes, love, pain, and need all bound up and sounding like a song from a holy choir.  

 

His tongue is hot and wet, swiping hard against her palm, lighting up nerves that were already sizzling from the heat of his come. She needs to say something, do something, but before she can get a handle on anything, he has a handle on her, yanking her up and against him.  

 

He plants his mouth on hers like he’s planting his banner, claiming her.  “Take from me a life of sorrow. Lift me from a world of pain.” He whispers the prayer in her mouth, feeding her. He’s not only found the words to express how he loves her in this moment; he’s shown her where to find hers as well. 

 

She reaches back through the years to find the verses, the ones that always spoke to her most. That they fit so well in the moment is no surprise. 

 

“Know my heart: Judge me worthy of Your endless pride. Judge me whole: Find me well within Your grace. Touch me with fire that I be cleansed. Tell me I have sung to Your approval.” 

 

He lifts her up as she feeds him the prayer, ripping her linen undershorts off, the slow tear of the fabric the perfect underscore to the deep heat building in her words. It’s easy enough to get her in place – he’s an expert by now – lines up his cock, keeps just the head touching her while he kisses her. 

 

She loses the rest of the words somewhere in the feel of his mouth, in the feel of his thick, slick cock waiting to fill her. Everything seems to spin around them. It could be only the air from the coming storm swirling gold dust around them. It could be the Maker Himself ready to fry them for their blasphemy. It doesn’t matter; nothing can make her look away, the blinding gold of the heat in his eyes has her trapped and grateful to be so. 

 

“For You are the fire at the heart of the world,” he whispers, lowering her onto his cock with exquisite, honey dripping slowness. 

 

Words fall away in the gold dust, reducing them to nothing but nerve endings and need, nothing but ripped open chests spilling heart’s blood as they cry and moan, hands clutching to hold each other tight, to fuse their bodies together, that they might never be separated again. 

 

Every thrust of his cock is a promise, a vow of undying love, every stroke stripping him down more. She can only grind down on him, rock into his rhythm, follow him down into the radiant light they create. Worshipped and worshipper, reduced to tears as the holiness builds around them, stealing the air, stealing the world, until there’s nothing left but each other and the knowledge that they passed the point of no return long before they knew such a thing existed. 

 

Somehow, they get their clothes off, an untidy pile on the floor for him to lay her back on. He holds her by the ankles and folds her legs up, high and wide like wings, opening her to thrust deeper, his tears and sweat falling on her like rain, like holy water. Words start coming back. The body isn’t enough to offer for the radiant reverence building in the air. They must give everything, words of promise and need, cries of worship undying as he bangs her down on the floor, as she flexes and arches against him, hips slapping together, sounding like wings beating, taking flight. 

**Author's Note:**

> Soundtrack: Hozier - Take Me To Church


End file.
